


The Winchester Brothers in: The Haunting of Winchester Mansion

by whosyourmaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acceptance, American History, Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Fallen Castiel, Family, Family History, Fluff, Ghosts, Guns, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Human Castiel, Humor, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Road Trips, Sexual Tension, Suspense, Winchester Feels, Women's History Month
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosyourmaster/pseuds/whosyourmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys head off to California to investigate the Winchester Mansion for ghost and possible family history. Simple. Yet life is never simple for the pair, especially with a newly humanized Cas joining them. Join the gang on a haunt of self discovery and maybe a bit of pairs work too. Remember though, danger lurks around every corner in The Haunting of Winchester Mansion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Free Fallin'

The sky was ablaze. Explosions behind the clouds cleared the sky in heat. Searing white flames streaking across the heavens giving way to its blackening abyss. I could hear the wails and tears of family, my sisters and brothers. Beloved individuals weeping in pain, begging like children. The night wind slapped across my face, punishment indebted upon myself. Was the air always this cruel? A truly formidable creature father has made. As the skies grew hotter, the cries louder, moisture began to collect on my skin. The nerves on my cheeks flared as drops rolled across them. Bones, muscles, organs, my very being began to ache, groaning at the meer energy it took to hold up my existence. The rocks collided hard with my knees, enraging my body and having it leak in protest.

  
The skies grew darker, the cries louder, the emptiness greater. Something was missing, more than the weight on my shoulders, my very essence felt torn. My siblings screams echoed the gap in my soul, yet no noise could come out. My eyes and legs continued to empty their contents across my immediate environments. The rustling of trees, limbs, and cries forced themselves together, creating a hybrid of chaos, overloading my brain. Awashed in so much sensories it could barely process. Overheating like Sam’s beloved Laptop does. It just kept getting louder and louder, the world closing in, over heating my skin. Hell on earth. Is this what it is like? I should ask Dean when I can. Dean, I can’t feel him anymore, his presence is gone?

  
Cells started to shake, my world becoming unstable. My skin twitched under the pressure as my hands rubbed against the offended organ. Warmth was loosely rubbed into my rapidly aching body, trying to soothe itself. Branches broke behind, my brain now seemed to find this information relevant. Confusing shouts began to overpower the wallowing cries, the sound was deep and seemed to vibrate in my skull.

  
“Cas!?” Dean.

  
“Cas, Where are you!?” Sam. I wanted to yell out, but the information overload decreased my capacity to vocalize. The world was on fire and I could barely breath. The lungs in my chest stretched and collapsed, aching from over work. A bonfire to match the hellfire outside my being. The yells grew louder as my ears minutely shifted to pick up on Dean’s voice. It sounded hoarse, as if he swallowed sand, maybe he fell in the dirt.

  
“Cas!” The crunching of leaves paired with the thud of earth.

  
“Cas, wake up.” A large hand wrapped itself around my shoulder, the skin buckling under the rough grip. Heat leaked through branding my shoulder with sweat.

  
“You got to wake up. Damn it Cas!” The hand began to pulse pushing my body with it. Pressure begin to form at the back of my skull, not unpleasant, but not right. My limbs begin to feel restricted, knotted together by an unseen force. The more I struggled. The more I shook. The more I knotted. My heart jolted and my muscles constricted. I felt my body begin to worm even though my eyes level stayed the same. The hand on my shoulder tightened, now joined by a partner.

  
“For God sake’s Cas! Wake. The. Hell. Up!” Seering pain graced my face as my eyes wrenched open and my cheek forced down. Dean. Hand held up, forming a fleshy paddle. Eyes wide, green, darkened in odd terror. Body positioned, hanging above my own. Than recognition flashed through his eyes, a twisted worn smirk. Pushing off my bruising shoulder, Dean stood to his full height, keeping a wary eye on me. Groaning I rolled my head to the other side, pressing my wet cheek to the mildew pillow. The sun was up, heating the sky, the air was thick with the smell of smoke and bleach, the faintest hint of Winchester began to permeate the walls. Sun streamed in from moth eaten curtains with a tacky print, ‘Freddie Mercury’s acid trip’ as Dean put it, highlighting the once “decent” rooms shortcomings. Stains, tears, and breaks of varying size and origins, bleach and duct tape could only cover so many issues.

  
“It is about time. You were really out of it, almost if you haven’t slept your whole life.” A light jest made at my expense, but those green eyes held all the weight of the comment within.

  
“I do appear to be sleeping more frequently.” I reply sluggishly dragging my body up, was moving always so horrible in the morning.

  
“I’ll say, it’s already noon. Sam’s out getting lunch.”

  
“I will never understand your desire for sleep.” I comment watch as the aging hunter planted himself in front of his disassembled gun. “It has only been a time for me to re see things I never wished to view in the first place.” I bit out, cripping the crusty blanket.

  
“You had a nightmare. Welcome to Humanity, Cas, with all the perks of emotional baggage. There is always ways to deal with it though, may I suggest my tried and true method.” Dean grinned holding up a half empty bottle of scotch, the amber liquid sloshing around the plastic confines.

  
“Dean, I am not sure how drink a liquid that decreases my inhibitions effects my “night visions”.

  
“Nightmares, and that is not the point. Cas, this baby not only makes ‘Girls Gone Wild’ happen this is the adults Pediacare.” I wasn’t sure what wild women had to do with the current situation but the childrens supplement made a vague connection. I remember staring at it’s box once while in the store. Though, I highly doubt that a bottle of gas station whiskey had the nutritional value of the drug. With a sigh dean dropped the smirk and bottle onto the table and went back to his polishing. The clicking of keys echoed from behind the door, followed by the awful squealing of the door’s laziness. A mammoth plaid covered body stumbled in weighted down in paper bags.

  
“I’m back.” Sam’s main peaking out from under the pile of bags.

  
“Get the pie?” Dean asked as he shifted the contents of the table over so there was room for the bags. Sam deposited them with a thud of paper, plastic and cans and pullin out a glossy cover from the top.

  
“Yup. Take a look at this.” Sam commented as he placed his large body on the edge of the twin bed I occupied, facing Dean, who was elbow deep looking for the dessert. “They have a whole article on a mansion supposedly built by ghosts.” Dean let out a snort vocalizing his obvious distaste. “owned by Sarah Winchester, the heiress to the Winchester rifle fortune. It says here that Ms. Winchester moved to california after the civil war and with her inheritance, a total of $20,000,000, began building a mansion. Construction took place everyday until her death and was designed, not by the greatest architects of the time, but by ghosts. Victims of the Winchester rifle that Ms. Winchester felt like she had to atone to...”

  
“Sam, are you serious? you can’t believe this rag’s bullshit.” Dean grumbled. I push aside the stained comforter to look over sam’s shoulder at the ‘rag’ as Dean called it.

  
“That’s what I thought too, until I saw this,” Sam threw back as he pulled out a folded piece of newsprint. “front page, in the corner, a small article on a series of deaths in the ‘Winchester Mystery Mansion’. There have been a series of strange accidents and deaths; a man fell through hole in the floor, another ran out a door on the third floor. A worker crushed to death in the pump room. A child went missing, they have yet to find any sign of him.” Dean scanned the article with a raised eyebrow.

  
“I don’t know Sammy, sounds more like a case of dumb tourists going where they shouldn’t, and even if it is foul play there is nothing here to suggest it’s ghosts.”

  
“Come on Dean, this is supposed to be one of the most haunted places in America, I think we run the high risk of seeing ghosts.”

  
“The same thing was said about the mystery spot and that was a tourist trap.”

  
“We found Gabriel and fixed the problem.”

  
“Exactly, no ghost just a sugar high dick with a sadist empulse. No offense Cas.”

  
“None to be had, Gabriel was always... ‘precocious’.” I waved off, I missed brother dearly but our relationship had been strained, in the least, towards the end. Even with the stressful ends and the sudden death, it could not overshadow the memories of early life. The fondest ones being that of Gabriel dragging me from the Garrison for “training”, which for Gabriel was laying around in the heaven of an autistic man’s perfect day. We would spend time eating candy, talking and, when the moment hit, playing pranks on some of the unsuspecting angels. The need to be close to my brother is what drove me to take sanctuary in the same haven, after Gabriel disappeared. It was never quite the same.

  
“Well that was the only thing that was notable in the paper and we are done with our job here, we can’t stay, people will recognize this one.” Sam grunted pointing his finger in my direction, referring to my collision with a hospital window, after being thrown by a disgruntled vampire. Even I know the victims in the burn ward would be ‘spooked’ by a blooded man flying through the ward. “Besides it’s a good old fashion ghost hunt, and the woman’s name is Winchester.”

  
“What, you think we are related?”

  
“We could be, Dean. We don’t know really anything about Dad’s family. Hell, we haven’t even met them, and we have met Mom’s... frequently.” Sam countered. They were not the most sound of arguments in my mind but I could admit that my interest was peaked. Even as the boys “guardian angel” I never took time to learn about the elder Winchester. Dean seemed to chew on this information for a moment, staring down the growing puppy eyes Sam was flashing. With a sigh he started to reassemble the gun on the table.

  
“Get packed up, we will move out in an hour.” With that Dean packed up his small artillery, chucking it into his worn duffle bag. Stretching, I took my cue to get up and get ready. I dug into the old duffel, donated by Dean, that now carried my life. We had yet to go shopping properly so the contents were hand me downs. Shirts, Dean’s. Jacket, Sam’s. Jeans, Dean. Shoes, Dean. Socks, Sam. The only thing truly min was a wad of underwear, toothbrush and the old trench coat I couldn't part with. It took the brothers almost a week to get me to take it off. When it’s weight was gone it almost solidified the fact that my shoulders were bare. I still kept the jacket in the back of my bag, wore it on the days that I felt particularly lost. Dean hated it, especially when I put it on over one of his beloved band shirts, but I could really careless when I needed the comfort. Digging into the bag I pulled out the single plaid shirt I now owned and the old jeans covered in the impala’s oil. Topping off with a change of underwear and toothbrush, I clutched my bundle as I entered molded bathroom.

  
Of all the habits I had to form over the last few weeks, showering was the most tedious yet relaxing. Shutting the broken door, I turned on the broken shower, and tried to use the broken toilet. The water gave its best try at warming up yet I still felt icicles pelt my skin as I stood under the head. Learning new habits made life as a human rather rough, sometimes more for Dean than myself. I could help but smile, remembering the floundering look Dean took on when I first needed a shower.

  
It came two days after my fall, returning from dinner, Sam made a comment about the state of my scent. With a shrug I made my way to the motel’s bathroom, disrobing along the way. I had seen plenty of humans shower from the heavens, the concept was easy enough; get wet, slather goo into ones hair, rinse and avoid the eyes. Yet when I pulled back the curtain the series of knobs and plugs overridden my comprehension. I may have seen a shower or two but the last was in the 1800’s, in the Ganges. Turning on my toes I opened up door, entering the main room. ‘I am unable to work the shower’ I announced to the other occupants. Looking up, green eyes flashed and cheeks tinted, as Deans mouth fell open. He seemed to be stunned by my appearance, which seemed odd since a person preparing to get wet would shed their outer layers. ‘Jesus Christ, Cas, put some clothes on!’ Dean screamed as Sam shoved his own red face into his book. ‘Why? I can not take a shower in full dress. Now could you help me fix the shower.’ The gaping only seemed to continue until Sam made a loud clearing noise in his windpipe. ‘Here, I’ll help’ He announce unceremoniously chucking his book onto the bed, Sam squeezed past as I looked over at Dean again. A frustrated, almost constipated, look graced the elder Winchester face as he glared at the grain of the table. The sound of rushing water began and with a quick thanks I traded places with Sam and entered the shower.

  
The last of the soap rolled down my legs as I turned off the water and exited the cubical. Warping the eaten towel around my waist I began to catch all the stray drops clinging to my skin. I chucked on the previously owned clothing and combed my hair, not that it ever really fixed a lot. Once in order I picked up the crushed toothpaste bottle, depositing the tubes inners onto my miniature brush. I counted out the ABC’s twice, like Sam taught me, as I brushed the tool in circles across my teeth. Spitting out the froth, I gargled stale water and spat that out too. I picked up my rumpled overnight clothing and exited the bathroom. The room was empty. I zipped up the bag and threw it over my shoulder. Within 5 minutes all three of us had packed, chucked our bags and entered the impala. Ready to begin our journey to the next supernatural sight. It was going to be a long journey.


	2. Ramble on

The roar of the Impala exploded in my ears. Never let it be said to Dean, but I hated his Baby. The metal monster was loud, slow and small. My ears felt stuffed with the obnoxious rumble of the exploding engine and the crunch of gravel under rubber circles. As if that wasn't enough, Dean insisted on blasting his music over the top of the already headache inducing noise. It became quickly apparent, after the fall, that the lost of my grace was the equivalent of losing one's eyesight. My human senses went into overdrive as I lost the ability to detect other angels, demons, and even Dean. Every touch felt like an explosion of nerves and my eyes burned after only 5 minutes of continuous use. I have been getting better, able to read for over an hour and breath the air, but the Impala is still a constant struggle. The combination of vibrating seat benches and pulsating bass put pressure on my mind. Sam and Dean sat in the front, blissfully unaware of the constant struggle, though Dean did check the rear veiw more than when Sam sat in the back. It had only been about two hours and I was at my limit, trying to numb my mind by counting the clouds in the sky.

“Cas, you alright there?” Dean asked, I looked into his eyes from the mirror and stiff nodded. No point worrying them. It was not like we could make it go faster anyways.

“Just..... bored”

“Oh, well here try this.” Sam stated passing back his small white box, I believe he called it an Iphone. Some brand of cellular device that like to announce to everyone it was a phone with poor grammar.

“It should help pass the time” I cupped the phone in my hands looking at a stock picture of water. Sam had showed me how to make a call on the device and Dean had showed me how to access his favorite websites without Sam’s knowledge. Both mechanics seemed pretty pointless for a time like this, Sam would definitely hear moans from the device and I had no reason to call anyone.

“Am I suppose to call someone?” I asked clicking on the green digital box with the white phone Icon on it.

“No, no Cas, here.” Quickly the massive hand took the object from my own. Brushing back a strand of his elongating hair, Sam began taping on his screen. The box began playing a high pitched repetitive tone, just barely washed out by Dean’s Led Zeppelin cassette, which earned him a pissed off glare from Dean. When Sam was content with what he saw, and Dean snagged it to turn off the volume they handed the device back to me. A highly color door greeted my face, suddenly there was the words ‘Knock Knock’ emerging from the door and an unseen force opened the wood door. on the floor, was a large box sloppily wrapped in twine and a paper sign taped to the front stating ‘Feed with Candy’. The scene melted to show the title of the game Cut the Rope and a smiling green plant thing with big eyes and a bigger toothy smile. With a few taps to the menu I managed to open the first level of the game. The concept was fairly simple, give the green monster candy by cutting the ropes it was attached too, there were bonuses if you collect stars on the way. The game quickly became harder as you had to avoid spikes, spiders, and simply dropping the candy off screen. I would like to say that as a former angel of the lord I had a handle over such petty tendencies like obsession. However, the incident with cheeseburgers highlighted my inabilities, Jimmy was not the only one craving the grease burger. The game quickly attracted my full attention, putting my mind into single minded ease. The headache went away as the sounds and the feels of the impala drowned out to the drive to achieve my goal. my thumbs swiped and tapped with precision ease. The utter joy in my pets eyes warmed my gut, likewise the tearful failure pushed me to win. I began to bounce up and down as I completed the level and a new box was relieved of its chain. “

Oh no, Sam, I think you’ve made a monster.” This game was amazing each level got harder and harder. Soon it was not merely enough to feed my pet but to figure out increasingly complex puzzles with time limits. This game was amazing. if only I had my own Iphone I would always feed my pet like a good owner. Maybe I could have a real pet someday, I heard they were good for travelers and the lost. Though, Dean would probably be very cross if I tried to bring a dog into the Impala, though I think most of his hatred stemmed from his bad experiences with the furry four leggers, maybe a cat. It was worth bringing up. I could tell that time was slipping through my fingers. I checked the clock on the Impalas dash and it greeted back with black 2:17 pm. Five minutes later, 3:45 pm. only two more later, 7:01pm. Soon the heated box shut down on me, taking with it my pet. The screen went completely black. It refused to respond to any button I press and no matter how I jabbed at the screen. My heart stopped as reality hit me, my pet was gone. If the phone wouldn't work then I couldn’t get to my pet, I couldn't save him. I couldn't save them. With a pained whine, I pushed my hand, holding the phone, into Sam’s face.

“It died! My pet died! Fix it!” It would be shameful for a soldier like myself to lose control like this on the battlefield, but then again I lost the fight a long time ago. The little guy had grew on me, I was just beginning to contemplate names, Jimmy seemed to be ironic yet respectful. I missed my pet, I want him back.

“It’s okay Cas, it’s just the phone it needs to be charged.” Sam soothed, taking the phone to inspect it quickly. Dean just gave a silent glance in my direction, I couldn't help but implore him to fix it.“It’s alright man, we will plug it in at the motel.” I grumbled not liking the response.

“Will Jimmy be okay?”

“Jimmy?”

“My pet, I was feeding him candy and I think he might be dead!”

“You named him Jimmy?” Sam asked giving me a shocked look.

“It seemed fitting.” I countered. Perfectly rational choice for a name.

“Little morbid there, don’t you think, Cas.” Dean commented, looking at me through the rear mirror. I locked eyes with him for a second, studying the little flashes and glints of emotion. It was always easy to stare at those eyes, trying to figure out what they were trying to tell me, I rarely got much insight. “Your pet is fine, the game saves automatically. Jimmy... will be there just the same when we get it running again.”

“Maybe we should call it a night soon, its getting pretty dark.” Sam commented, I looked out the window and saw nothing. Highway streets were rarely light and this one had so many bobs and weaves that you could not even see ahead with the fake suns. I will never understands the brothers love for the road. It is boring, repetitive and slow. The only thrill being when a large truck sneaks up on you, exploding from your peripheral vision. A part of me found the experience novel, at first. Yet now, several weeks into the never ending road trip, I craved a new environment. Anything would do, several days ago we stopped at the banks of a river. We parked on the bridge and sat on the railing looking over the side. The trees were alive, the river was rushing and the wind took my breath away. How I miss the wind, we still get it in the Impala, but it felt cramped and old compared to the air above the clouds.

Everything was different on Earth, always would be. I missed home. I became an alien in the backseat of the Impala. Dean said we were like family, the three of us, we had to stick together like one. Dean was concerned though, I could see it in his mannerisms. He thought I was leaving. The constant checking in the mirrors, the overuse of my name at every opportunity, the endearing small touches from his fingers. My senses have dulled, acclimatizing to the new nerves, yet Dean managed to set them aflame all over again. I could feel small dots tickle my flesh every time he wrapped his lips around my short name. My face caught fire every time he brushed upon my skin. I am no idiot though, I have seen these same effects happen to other humans for years. Profound bonds bring many side effects, though the term is now crush, I believe. It sounds completely unpleasant, the build up over time must result in a pressure. I should ask Sam.

A small town began to form in the distant, a singular glowing dot in a black canvas. A quick vote was taken and two to three, Dean being the loser, resulted in us pulling over for the night. The town was very small, could not be more than 300 population. There was a single street, lined with the essential stores. Everyone must live in farms down the road, luckily they had a motel for truckers. Sam hoped out of the Impala as Dean parked the car. I wedged myself out from the back, my back giving a crack in disapproval. Dean seemed to flinch at the absurdly loud noise. I could see a hint of guilt, if I stared close enough. The last few nights, excluding this most recent one, found myself either sleeping on the floor. so human social contract seemed to dictate that men do not sleep in the same bed, unless desperate. Most motels had only twins and queen beds, to solve the dilemma we played a game. Rock, paper, scissors I believed it was called, some hand gesture determined the state of out sleeping. Even if I never understood the power of paper over a rock I found the game to be relating to chance. In the end the one sleeping on the floor was always picked at random, unfortunately I had been the reigning loser 5 days in a row.

I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder, feeling the strap dig into my muscles. Sam met us at the entrance to the office and we made out tired march down the right hand side of the building. Room 115, A moldy petri dish of human by products, though the colors were not nearly as overwhelming as the other motels.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Sam stated, bumping his own bags on the singular chair in the room. ‘This’ being in reference to our evening rock, paper, scissors. Complying with the request Dean and I matched the younger Winchester’s actions. Collecting in a small triangle we lifted our hands ready to shake out our fates. A tension fell over one, the air seeming as if it was looking over a shoot out rather than a childhood game. Three slams of the fists and we reviewed our ‘cards’, as Dean put it. Draw. all scissors. One. Two. Three. Scissors. Scissors. Rock. Sam gave a small smile at his tiny victory. One bed gone, one more to play for. Facing my opponent I prepared to fight. One. Two. Three. Paper. Rock. Damn. I lost, with a dejected sigh I dropped by fists. My one night of relief paved the way for my 6th night on the floor this week. Dean seemed just as bother with the outcome.

“Look, Cas” Dean started, training his eyes on the retreating broad shoulders of this brother.“If you want, you can sleep in the bed tonight.”

“Thank you Dean. It means a lot but you won, it is only fair that I keep up my end of the deal and take residents on the floor.” I decline kindly. My back was killing me but it was only fair, the answer only seemed to push Deans brow closer together.

“Well, the bed seems big enough, maybe we could share it.” The comment was made as Dean’s eyes fixed themselves to the blue comforter. The offer was not a new one, though it did always seem to bring a flush to Dean’s freckled cheeks. I felt a smile tug on my lips, I always did enjoy that color. It rarely showed itself on Dean, he is usually so pale, but when it emerged I could feel my own self begin to glow. I felt a tugging in my throat, like a small string was tied around my pipe was was being pulled, it was pleasantly unsettling. I waited for Dean to look me in the face before I nodded my head in agreement. With a mirroring nod, Dean grabbed his small leather bag, stacking his claim as next to use the bathroom. Grabbing my own bag I moved it too the unusable desk and started digging through it. The light conversation of the tv began to fill the room as I pulled out my single pair of sweats. I stripped out my outer paid layer and jeans, chucking them into a bag that needed washing desperately. I slotted my feet into the army issue sweats and pulled them up, taking a quick glance in the mirror. Dean was watching, his eyes shooting back to the tv once I looked at him. This is a human practice I began to pick up on. It seemed to be customary to stare at a person, as long as they were not looking back, though it seemed the if the viewer was caught byt the viewed than there was some form of embarrassment imprinted. once righted in my night clothes I took a seat at the edge of bed, beside Dean, watching some women fling themselves at each other.

“So you want to talk about it?” He asked, not even looking away from the screen.

“What do we have we to talk about Dean?”

“Those nightmares, I thought you got over those weeks ago."

“Well I guess I haven’t.”

“What are they even about?” Dean looked concerned, he always did when we brought up the subject. Apparently nightmares were normal, all humans have them, Dean suffered from his own. Yet, he felt the need to confront me about my own, I want to tell him, yet I can not shake the feeling that it is opening up a layer that I was not ready for. As if giving room for this nightmare would open the air for everything else that made me shake at night. It is a nerve I am not ready to expose.

“Falling.”

“Falling?”

“Yes, I dream about me falling over and over.’”

“Do you mean, ‘the fall’?”

“Falling.” I quipped, leave it at that, do not recognize the rest. Dean seemed ready to argue something, if the defiant curl of his lip did give anything away, but the bathroom door opened. Sam marched out and ritualistically placed his giant frame on top of the parallel bed.

“We will be there by tomorrow, right?” He asked, pulling the covers up and giving small squirms to become more comfortable.

“Yeah, some time around 5.” Dean answered, standing up to enter the unoccupied porcelain room. Content with the answer Sam closed his eyes and began to even out his breath. Content with the result Dean locked himself in the bathroom and began his evening rituals. Content with the quiet I sat upon the bed and tried to numb my mind to the world.


End file.
